


Scars

by KingCrowleysLittlePet_666



Series: Supernatural Reader Inserts (Stories and Drabbles) [15]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Burning, Cutting, Depression, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drugs, Gen, Marijuana, Self Harm, Song fic, Song: Hallelujah, joints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-15 18:49:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13619478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingCrowleysLittlePet_666/pseuds/KingCrowleysLittlePet_666
Summary: The Reader is the sister of Sam and Dean Winchester. For a while, she has been having issues with drugs, depression, and self harm. What happens when she finally snaps? Will the brothers be able to save the reader before she does something she may not wake up from?Request: Hey. Can I get a deanxSamxlittlesis story? She lives w/ them but she's feisty & always gets into trouble? She hides her self-harm scars & lies about it but they slowly figure it out & confront her force/her to show them? She tries to run away & they're both mad bc this isn't the first time & she had promised to stop. Time goes by & they find her cutting again & on drugs & is dangerously skinny & they're furious/confused but Cas comes & tells the boys about her eating disorder? Idk I need this rn





	Scars

Glancing down the hallway, you ducked into the bathroom that was directly between yours and your brother’s room. As you entered, you turned and locked the door, letting out a sigh. You pulled the pack of unmarked cigarettes out from the inside pocket of your jacket. You walked to the toilet, sat down on the lip and took one of the sloppily rolled joints from the package and grabbed the lighter from the front pocket of your jean shorts. Placing the cig between your lips, you flicked on the lighter, and used the other hand to cup the flame before you lit the end of the joint, inhaling a large puff of the smoke. You clicked the lighter shut and shoved it back into your pocket. Pulling the joint away from your lips, you let a cloud of smoke flow from your lips and your nostrils.

The jean jacket that Sam and Dean had gotten you for your birthday was riding up on your arms, exposing the faded and fresh scars that riddled your wrists and forearms. Most were horizontal, but a select few of them were vertical. Each scar represented something to you - a continuous line of failures that came from your life and your actions. The longer the line, the more serious the failure. Using your stained fingernails, you began to trace each scar and even began to sketch invisible lines into your skin where you planned on expanding on your collection later on in the day. 

You took another drag and let it out. The cloud of smoke began to dance around your head before spreading to the rest of the room. Already, the drug was beginning to take affect on you. You took a glance at the lit end of the drug and shook your head. It was stronger than last time. You specifically told Scott that you wanted the same strength as you got before. You shrugged and inhaled it again. You paid the same price for a stronger drug. It was Scott that was losing the money, not you. 

The joint didn’t take that long to finish, considering the long drags you too. Once it was down to nothing but a small, lit nub, you glanced at it and rolled up your sleeve. Near the joint that connected your forearm with your upper arm, you pressed the end of the cigarette to your arm, hissing at the burning sensation you got from it. The smell of burning skin and marijuana filled the rest of the bathroom, creeping underneath the door and seeping into the rest of the Men of Letter’s bunker. 

Suddenly, a loud hammering sound came from the door. The wooden door rattled with the force of the knock. This caused you to jump and drop the joint on the floor. You sighed and picked it up. 

“(Y/N)!?” Sam’s voice came from outside and he sounded pissed, like your brothers normally were when they were around you. “What the hell are you doing in there?” 

“Taking a shit!” You called back and shook your head.

“Bullshit. Come out here,  _ now _ .” He growled. 

Already, your eyes were starting to get bloodshot and you had a strong urge to buy some bacon soda. You put the end of the joint inside of the box that Scott had given you and then stood up, putting the pack back inside of your jacket, standing up straight. You rubbed your hands down your face and then shook your head frantically. You walked over to the sink and turned on the cold water. It shook you awake and made you shiver. You took your time to wash your hands in the ice cold water. When you were done, however, you shook your hands, the water splashing on the mirror and the corner of the sink and wall. You then turned and opened the door. Sam stood there, blocking your exit. His arms were crossed angrily. 

“You were smoking.” He stated. 

You shook your head and looked down. ‘I wasn’t smoking.” You mumbled under your breath. 

Sam uncrossed his arms and tilted your chin up. You closed your eyes. Without asking, Sam used his index and middle finger to open up your eye. You pushed his hand away. He could see the red color that covered your eyes. He shook his head. 

“You’re high.” He said. 

“No, I’m not.” You told him and shook your head. 

“Give me the drugs.” He held out his hand. 

You narrowed your eyes. “I don’t have any.” 

Sam shook his head. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you out from the way of the bathroom. He put your arm behind your back, causing a whine to fall from your lips. He began to pat you down, moving from your back to your front. He felt the bulge in your jean pocket and opened your jacket, pulling out the pack of joints. Your eyes widened. 

“Give it back!” You shouted and tried to reach for the pack. Sam held it out of your reach and opened it, seeing the bumpy, white rolls. He narrowed his eyes at you. 

Without saying anything else, Sam let you go and stormed down the hallway. You began to panic, panting as you ran after him and tried to grab the pack from him, but it was all to no avail. He held the pack right above his head so that you were unable to reach it. Tears brimmed the corners of your eyes. 

“Give it!” You shouted, voice shaky. 

Sam led you to the kitchen where Dean sat, munching on his lunch. Once Dean saw the two of you, he frowned. 

“What’s going on here?” He asked. 

“I found her smoking again.” He said as he tossed the pack to Dean. You tried to retrieve it, but was unable to before he caught it and brought it close to himself. 

“Give it, please!” You began to sob childishly. 

Dean stared at the pack of drugs and growled. He stood up. He walked over to the counter, took the joints out of the pack and began to break them apart. Your eyes widened. “No!” You screamed as you tried to grab them. Dean turned on the water and began to flush the individual pieces down the drain. You stared down with watery eyes. Your lip quivered and your hands shook violently. You began to hit Dean weakly with your fists. “Are you stupid!?’ You shouted. 

Dean grabbed your wrists and stopped you from hitting him any longer. His eyes were filled with a mixture of disappointment and anger. You sobbed, as if you had lost someone close to you. Your knees started to feel weak.  

“I paid two-hundred dollars for those!” You cried. “You threw away two-hundred dollars!” 

“I don’t care (Y/N),” Dean shouted. His hands moved from your wrists so that he could grasp your shoulders roughly. He shook you. “Why do you feel like you need to do drugs, huh!? You shouldn’t do it! If we catch you doing it again, there’s going to be some consequences.” 

“I’m twenty years old, you can’t tell me what to do.” 

Dean growled. “Yes, I can, and I will.” He let go of your arms. “Go to your room.”

“No.” You clenched your fist. 

“Go to your room, (y/n).” 

“No.” You felt the tears flow down your face. 

“Go!” Dean pointed to the door. 

You inhaled and felt as if you were going to fight back, but you just clenched your fist tightly and stormed out of the room. You ran to your room and slammed the door shut. You collapsed onto your bed, curled into a ball, and began to cry. Within seconds, you tossed off your jacket and reached for the knife that you kept underneath your pillow for safety. There was a small section of dried blood located at the tip of the blade. You knew, that night, you were going to add some new stains to the knife. 

  
  


Twenty minutes later, you had cut three horizontal lines into the tops of your arms. The blood was dripping down your forearm and landing on the bed sheets that you didn’t plan on changing. You eyed the backpack that was in the corner of the room. With eyes wide, you tossed the knife onto the floor and ran to the backpack, grabbing it. You began to throw clothes from your dresser and closet into the bag, not taking note on what you were taking and what you were leaving. It didn’t take long for you to fill the bag to the top. You took two minutes to try and close it. Stuffing your phone and wallet into your jean shorts, you put your jean jacket on and headed out of the room. 

At that moment, you were not going to let anyone stop you. Not Dean. Not Sam. Not yourself. Not  _ anybody _ . Your eyes, bloodshot and tired-looking, hid a look of determination behind the high. You stormed passed the kitchen and by the library, making your way up the stairs. You heard a pair of footsteps behind you that were frantically rushing towards you. Before you could even reach the door, long arms wrapped around you and picked you up. You let out a scream and kicked your feet. 

“Let me go!” You screamed, growling. 

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Dean asked as he carried you down the stairs. 

“I’m leaving.” You said. “And I’m gonna get a place of my own so that I can-” 

“ _ What!? _ ” Sam spoke. “Get high and then die on your own?”

“At least I’ll die doing something that I love.” You growled. 

Dean rolled his eyes and set you down, turning you around. He placed his hands firmly on the same spot that he had before, which was the exact same spot that you had cut merely twenty minutes ago. You winced. Dean frowned and hesitated before he pushed your jacket off, pulling your arm towards him. He saw the three lines that you had created and his expression slowly softened. 

“(Y/N),” He breathed and studied the scars. He looked at you and shook his head. “You told us you stopped.” 

“I also told you that I stopped taking drugs.” You mumbled and shook your head carelessly. 

Dean looked at Sam, who had a sympathetic look and a long frown on his lips. He shook his head. Dean went to pull you into a hug but you shoved him away. You stared at the two of them. The silence between the three of you was horrible and deadly. When the brothers had nothing to say, all you could do was shake your head and snatch your jacket away from Dean before storming off to your room. 

“(Y/N),” Dean breathed, reaching for you. You kept walking, though. He looked at Sam and gestured down to you. “Follow her.” He said. “Make sure she doesn’t do anything.” 

Sam nodded as he began to walk after you as you made the trek down the hallway to your bedroom. When you reached it, you stood inside for a minute before you went to slam the door shut, but Sam’s hand stopped the door. You snarled, scrunching your nose up and glaring at your brother as he tried to push the door open. You shook your head. 

“Get off Sam.” You said in a small and weak voice. 

“Please, (Y/N), let me in.” He begged. 

You shook your head and pressed your hand against his chest firmly, shoving him away and slamming the door, locking it. You turned your back and pressed your back to the door, sliding down it. Fresh tears began to form within your eyes. You sat there, quietly, and sobbed. 

  
  


Dean was bending over the table, palms pressed firmly against the glossy surface. His eyes were closed as his brother entered. 

“She locked herself in her room.” Sam informed him. 

Dean frowned, his head shooting up at the news. He glanced at Sam with wide and worried eyes. “She  _ what _ !?” 

“Locked herself in her room.” 

Dean stood up straight. ‘We have to get that door open.” He said before he turned and hurried out of the room. Before he could get far, however, Sam grabbed his arm. Dean furrowed his brows. “Sam, what the hell are you doing? She might hurt herself.” 

“And you really think that tearing her door off will help? All we’ve done is hound on her over and over again and does it look like it’s working?” 

Dean opened his mouth, but slowly closed it, his shoulder slouching. “What do you say we do then?” 

Sam sighed and shook his head. ‘I don’t know.” He said. “Maybe...maybe Cas can help?” 

“What will I be able to help with?” The familiar deep, gruff voice echoed throughout the library and the brothers turned towards the angel. Castiel had his head cocked to the side. 

“We caught (Y/N) smoking again.” Sam explained. “And...and cutting herself, and now she won’t let us into her room. Do you think that you can flash into her room and see if she is alright?” 

“Sam, she put up wards to keep angels out, remember?” He raised a brow. “But I can read her thoughts if you would like.” 

“Yes, yes, please do that.” Dean said frantically, running his fingers through his short hair. 

Castiel gave a small nod. He closed his eyes, scrunching up his face to concentrate. The boys waited patiently for the news. 

“She’s sitting in front of her door,” he began. “Crying. She’s...thinking about how she’s a failure. About how you and Sam both hate her.” 

Sam and Dean both frowned. “We don’t hate her.” 

“She thinks you two do.” 

Sam shook his head head. “We don’t hate her. Her drug addiction is out of control.” He said. 

“She spent two hundred dollars on joints.” Dean said. 

Castiel opened his eyes. “(Y/N) thinks she’s a disappointment to the two of you for doing all the drugs.” 

Sam looked down. “Dean, it makes sense.” He said. 

“What?” 

“She’s hurt because she thinks that we’re disappointed in her, so she turns to the cutting, so then she turns to drugs to hide the pain, and then she thinks we are disappointed in her for taking the drugs. It’s one big circle. Wash, rinse, repeat.” He said. 

Dean frowned, glanced at the ground, and then at Sam. ‘You’re right.” He said. “Well, what’re we going to do?” 

“Why don’t you two try talking to her?” Castiel said and shrugged. 

“She won’t open the door.” Dean shook his head. 

“It still doesn’t hurt to try.” He said. 

Dean looked at Sam, giving him a small nod. Him and Sam walked through the hallway to your door. They frowned and walked slowly once they got close enough. Your sniffles and cries could be heard. Sam and Dean frowned, glancing at each other. It hurt them to hear you cry and to hear what you thought. Their hearts clenched at the thought of you ending your life from the cuts or from an overdose. It would hurt them to see you go, and a part of them didn’t think that you saw that. 

Sam walked up to the door first, knocking on it gently with his knuckles. “(Y/N)?” His voice was soothing, calm, and collected. “(Y/N), can we talk to you?’ 

No response but your cries. 

Dean stepped closer to the door, eyes averted to the ground. “(Y/N)?” 

Again, only cries. 

The brothers met eyes with one another. Sam shook his head and turned around. He decided to sit down on the ground, back leaning against the door. Dean frowned, but followed. Sam knew what he was doing. He was a smart kid and knew how to handle you better than either of them, especially when the three of you were younger. 

“(Y/N)?” 

“(Y/N), please talk to us.” 

“Please?” 

They would go back and forth with talking, trying to edge you into talking to them. Still, you gave them the silent treatment. For awhile, they said nothing, not able to think of anything else comforting enough. Suddenly, Sam raised his brows. 

“You got your phone on you?” He asked. 

Dean furrowed his brows. “Yeah, why?” 

“Let me see it.” 

Dean grabbed his phone from his pocket and handed it to his brother. Sam searched through his playlists before he selected a song, putting the volume at full blast, setting it right in between them. Dean gave him a confused expression before the song began to play. Dean then raised his brows and nodded as the music began to flow through the tiny speakers on the device. 

_ I heard there was a secret chord,  _

_ That David played and it pleased the lord _

_ But you don’t really care for music _

_ Do ya? _

 

_ It goes like this _

_ The fourth the fifth _

_ The minor fall and the major lift _

_ The baffled king composing Hallelujah. _

 

The cries from your room slowly seized. The boys glanced at each other as the music continued to play. Shuffling was heard from your room before the door slowly opened. 

 

_ I did my best, it wasn’t much _

_ I couldn’t feel, so I tried to touch _

_ I told the truth _

_ I didn’t come to fool ya _

 

_ And even though it all went wrong _

_ I’ll stand before the lord of song _

_ With nothing on my tongue but _

_ Hallelujah _

 

Sam and Dean stayed sitting on the ground as they looked up at you. Your eyes were bright red from a mixture of the drugs and tears. That song, Sam knew, was the only way to get you out of the room. It was the one song that you grew up on. The one that used to be sung to you when you were down and depressed. It worked back then and, not surprisingly, it worked now. 

You walked over to them and collapsed between them. They caught you in their arms and brought you close to them. You sobbed. Sam and Dean placed one of their hands on your back and began to rub it smoothly. Your heart rate began to slow and you moved closer to them. 

“We love you (Y/N),” Sam said. “And we just want you to be safe.” 

“I hate seeing you when you’re like this, kid.” Dean said. “When you have those red eyes. Your eyes are so beautiful, why would you do this to yourself?” 

You sobbed, cries coming out of your mouth in a high pitch. “I don’t know.” You admitted, tears falling to the floor and covering the phone that played the music. 

Sam and Dean sighed. “We’re here for you.” Sam said. 

“Yeah, we’ll never leave you. We just want you to get better. To be happy. To be yourself again.” 

You shook as the sobs slowly came to a halt. You sat up, eyes wide and hands shaking, rattling like an earthquake. “Help me…” You whispered, lip quivering. “Help me.” 

It broke their heart to see you that vulnerable, but it made them feel relief to know that you were asking for the one thing that they knew you would have denied one short hour ago. They both nodded. Dean leaned forward and cupped your cheeks. 

“We will help you in any way that we can.” He said, giving you a confident nod. 

You stared into his eyes, searching for that look of disappointment that you always saw on a daily basis. That day, however, the illusion seemed to vanish. All you could see was strength and love within his emerald orbs. Looking over, into Sam’s eyes, you could see the exact same thing. No longer the invisible disappointment, but the love and adoration that you distinctly remember being present when the three of you were younger. It made your chest warm up. With a nod, you leaned into their touches, sniffling. As you felt yourself relax into their hold, the sorrow no longer filling your heart, but rather the joy and relief that you had been wrong the entire time, you heard the song slowly fade, the words marking the moment with the one thing that saved you and your relationship with your brothers.

_ Hallelujah _

_ Hallelujah _

_ Hallelujah _

_ Hallelujah….. _


End file.
